


The Whiskey And You

by Bitsy_Sprinkles



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drabble, F/M, I'm Bad At Tagging, I'm Sorry, Songfic, This Is Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-17
Updated: 2018-08-17
Packaged: 2019-06-28 21:18:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15715275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bitsy_Sprinkles/pseuds/Bitsy_Sprinkles
Summary: This is a short drabble loosely based on the Chris Stapleton song 'The Whiskey And You'.Girl meets Dean. Dean and girl run off together. Things do not end happily.





	The Whiskey And You

**Author's Note:**

> If the response from this admittedly short first draft is good, I'll make it into a full multi chapter ordeal.  
> So please let me know in the comments if this is something you would want to see as a full story.

**_There’s a bottle on the dresser by your ring…_ **

It's been three months since I left. It was the worst day of my life. Then the worst week, month… It's shaping up to be the worst everything. But I couldn't do it anymore. I wish I could have, but I'm not strong enough.  
I was in love. Hell, I still am. I think about it every single day. Those eyes, that smile, the laughter. It was a dream. Until it was a nightmare...

_**And it's empty, so right now I don’t feel a thing…** _

_It all happened so fast. I'm only looking to have a few drinks and dance with my friends. What would happen that night changed my whole life._  
_We grab seats at the bar, scanning the floor for suitable dance partners. None stood out, at least not to me. Three shots deep, and in he walks. Tall, beautiful eyes, well built. Lord help me, those jeans fit just right._  
_I didn’t know it then, but the second he sat two stools down from me, my life, as I knew it, was over._  
_He smiled, not the normal greasy grin you get from most guys at a bar, but a genuine smile._  
_'How you doing, sweetheart?’_  
_Oh no, not again._  
_‘Sorry. I don’t mean anything by it. But if you find yourself in any trouble with any of these douchebags tonight, just find me. I'll take care of them.’_  
_Oh. Alright then._  
_I give him a small smile back, “Thank you.”_

_**And I'll be hurting when I wake up on the floor…** _

He’d saved me. Now don’t get me wrong, I totally could have taken that guy out, but I was caught off guard and a bit drunk. Needless to say, Kind Stranger stepped in and beat the holy hell outta that poor bastard.  
I thanked him with another round of whatever he was drinking. We talked, everything seemed to click into place. He was gorgeous, smiled easily, had a voice that could drop panties. Yeah, I had it bad.

_**But I'll be over it by noon…** _

_“What're you drinking,” she asked over the music._  
_‘Whiskey.’_  
_“Perfect!” She ordered us two shots of Jack Daniels._  
_I looked at the glasses, 'Well I never turn down free whiskey.’ I downed my shot, straight faced. ‘But for future reference, I prefer Jim Beam.’_  
_“That’s gross. But ok, Jim Beam for you from now on. Maybe…”_  
_'Maybe? Why maybe,’ I look over the shot glass at her._  
_“Because if I want to kiss you, I don’t want to taste Jim Beam.”_  
_‘Kiss me? Sweetheart you don’t even know me. And I can tell, that ain’t you.’_  
_“Isn’t it? You don’t know me either mister! So keep your opinions over there with your nasty Jim Beam.” She shot me a playful smile, trying to be cute. She really didn’t have to try. “Y'know… I never caught your name.”_  
_'Dean.’ Oh boy. ‘My name’s Dean.’_

 

**_That’s the difference between the whiskey and you._ **

She did something that night she said she’d never done. She had a one night stand. Except it wasn’t one night. It turned into two, then three. Then a week later she’s riding shotgun in my car going God knows where. What the hell was she thinking?  
She wasn’t. Seedy hotel rooms, questionable diner food, and too many glimpses of guns. She was on edge. She should have booked it when she saw that sawed off fall out of the duffle bag I always kept by the door. She didn’t. Boy was she dumb.

**_Come tomorrow I can walk in any store…_ **

_“Dean what the hell is going on?!” I'm losing my mind as he stumbles through the door, face and shirt covered in blood. “What happened to you?!”_  
_He just sat on the edge of the bed and pulled his shirt off, wiping more blood on it as he did. ‘I'm fine. Just need a shower.’_  
_“A shower?! You look like you were hit by a truck! You need a doctor,’ I yell as I grab his face to look it over. There’s a cut over his right eye, a bruise on his cheek, and his mouth is busted in two places._  
_“Dean what happened to you?”_  
_‘Demons.’_  
_“Ok, so-Wait, what? Demons? Like messengers of hell?”_  
_He laughs, ‘More like irritating hell bugs.’_  
_I stare at him, trying to find words. “BUGS DID THIS TO YOU?” That’s not was I was expecting to come out._  
_'No. Demons. There were just enough of them that I couldn’t fight them off. If I had been prepared, I'd've killed them all.’_

_**It ain’t a problem, they'll always sell me more…** _

Demons were not in my active vocabulary until that point. After that, it was an everyday word. He was a hunter, someone who literally hunts and kills monsters. He lives a life I can't even fathom, yet I allowed myself to continue down that road.  
A month after meeting him, I had a gun in my hands and was shooting things dead. This isn’t me, at least it wasn’t. But I liked it. I felt in control.  
Oh how very wrong I was.

**_But your forgiveness, well that's something I can't buy…_ **

_She ducks down beside me, listening to our surroundings, gun drawn and ready. She peeks over the broken tree._  
_“There’s four of them,” she whispers, sitting back down._  
_‘Dammit. Ok look, I'm gonna go try to reason with the-‘_  
_“Reason with them? Dean, really?’ She’s obviously confused. But these aren’t just Demons we’re dealing with…_  
_They’re Angels. And these feathery bastards have it out for me, and her, too. Guilt by association, I guess. I can't let her get hurt. If I just go with them, then maybe she gets out-_  
_'Dean! Snap out of it. Whatever you're thinking, stop it. I’m going with you.’_  
_She walks out with me, hands up. I try to tell them she’s innocent. They don’t listen._

  
_**There ain’t a thing that I can do…** _

I don’t know how, but we managed to get away alive. We fought like hell. She got hurt. I was hurt. At least the two we didn’t kill ran away.  
She was so scared, and there was nothing I could do because it was all my fault. I brought her into this. I did this to her. Why? Because no matter how badly I don’t want to admit it, I was lonely.  
I never should have done this to her.  
I never should have brought her down this road.

_**That’s the difference between the whiskey and you.** _

_“Oh my God, I'm bleeding.”_  
_‘Well, you're lucky you're breathing.’_  
_“NOT. HELPING.” I'm scared. I've never been stabbed before and it sucks. He's scared. I'm sure he’s been stabbed plenty of times, though._  
_Once we get back to the motel and clean up, he holds me close and apologizes over and over again. It hurts. Not the wounds, not physically. But hearing the pain in his voice causes a hurt so deep I can’t bear it._  
_That’s when I know what I have to do…_

_**Yeah that's the difference between the whiskey and you.** _

When I woke up, he was gone. All his bags, the keys to his car, his jacket. Just gone. There was a credit card, fake of course, on the nightstand with two notes. One said ‘use this to get home’, I haven't been able to bring myself to read the other.  
So instead, I sit on my bed and stare at it, bottle of Jim Beam held tightly in my right hand. I don’t know what I'm expecting it to do. Maybe I'm hoping it will bring him back, or that it will all just dissolve away.  
Eventually it does dissolve. I wake up on the floor, not even remembering how I got there, empty bottle next to me. I can't keep doing this. I pull myself up and make it to the bathroom to shower. After eating some aspirin and chugging a bottle of water, I feel human enough to leave my house.  
When I come home, I set my bags down and start dinner. And that bottle of Jim Beam that I grabbed on the way home starts to disappear.

But the memory of him doesn’t.

  
I guess that’s just the difference between the whiskey and him.


End file.
